Stevie Drabbles

steviedrabble @ 2013-01-23T07:56:00

2013-01-23T11:45:12Z

Cooper had fallen and he couldn't get up.
wasn't that only supposed to happen to old people?
FLASH FICTION: NaNoWriMo Off Season Group Challenge

Cooper had fallen and he couldn’t get up. Wasn’t that supposed to happen to old people exclusively? He’d seen infomericals on the tv about old people that needed the aid of magic buttons that prompted servicemen to come and assist them right away. Unfortunately, he didn’t have that option. And he was pretty sure his arm was broken.

His arm was wedged behind him and after the throbbing had stopped, the pressure of his own body leaning back against it had caused it to go numb. Thank God for small miracles.

Maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to stand on top of the house. Maybe he should have listened to his roommate, Kiefer, who had insisted that he stay on the ground. “Where it was safe,” as she put it. But no, he just had to listen to the call of the wild and climb up to the roof. He’d seen somewhere that dumpster diving was perfectly safe. He didn’t realize there was an opportunity to miss the dumpster and its soft, safe, garbage bags. He didn’t realize he’d fall right down between the house and the metal bin. But somehow, he had. Granted, the fall wasn’t that bad -- they didn’t live in a mansion after all. But he still didn’t know how he’d get himself out from between the wall and the dumpster. Neither was easily moved.

Somehow, he managed to fish his phone out of his pocket. Holding in the home button, he breathlessly gasped, “Send help!”

Thirty seconds later, Siri helpfully responded, “Would you like to 'Search help'?”

Cooper dropped his phone.

steviedrabble @ 2013-01-22T02:26:00

2013-01-22T06:11:22Z

One of the hardest things for him to say
was "I forgive you".
22. Holiday Drabble: Corrie/Quinn

The snow was pelting down: the roads were already completely covered and underneath the thick white layer was a sheet of ice. The storm had hit before anyone could exactly prepare for it. Quinn stood by the window, occasionally pulling back the curtain so he could stare longingly outside into the cold winter night. The wind picked up again; it was blowing so hard that it made the house shielding them creak and crack with its force. He let the lacy curtain fall from between his fingertips. He turned his back to the window and leaned against the frame, his lips set in a firm line, his arms crossed protectively against himself.

"Well, see there? Way too fuckin' cold to go out if you ask my opinion," someone said from the opposite room where a warm fire crackled.

Laughter followed it and someone threw a handful of popcorn kernels into an old fashioned fireplace popcorn maker. Quinn listened to the shaking of the tin over the fire and then the careful pop pop pop! of the kernels. He was so caught up in it that he didn't even see her step into the room. Corrie, dressed comfortably for the holiday 'party' at Eddie's place, which mostly consisted of eating and drinking copious amounts of alcohol, appeared next to him. In her hands was a small green package with a gold bow.

"I thought you might like it," she said, albeit a little coldly.

"I didn't get you anything," he said in reply. "I didn't--"

Corrie didn't say much, just shoved the box into his hands. "That's not why I got it for you." She bowed her head as she started to leave the room, traveling back to where Eddie was nestled happily in front of the fire, a bottle of booze in one hand and a muffin as big as her face in the other.

Quinn waited until she had disappeared to rejoin Eddie before he touched the bow. He nimbly untied the ends, coming to the cleanly wrapped present with uncertainty. Slowly, he pulled the paper from the cardboard underneath and found himself looking at a matching set of gloves, a hat, and a scarf. Underneath, however, he found a picture frame of all three of them when they had just gotten out of school. They laughed and smiled, hugging, as they waved at the camera. Shortly after waving, all three seemed to get in some sort of a fight and Quinn's picture reflection fell out of the frame as Eddie and Corrie seemed to loudly brawl over something.

He sighed and found himself looking out the window again. He missed that. But nothing would change the fact that Corrie had left -- not even the fact that she'd returned.

steviedrabble @ 2012-03-01T18:52:00

2012-03-01T23:10:35Z

JJ's antics were teenage at best, but they never failed.
Maddie liked to be wanted.
Manners

Everything had been a mess since she had left school. First, her grandmother died. That hadn't been a shock. She had been old, approaching eighty with all the dignity of a furious goose. Then, she didn't get accepted into art school. Then her father had a heart attack. And another. Then a third. That was the last time she'd ever speak to him--the day before the third, when she wished him luck for his final exams with the latest batch of students. She had popped into the Ukraine, followed the winding halls until the reached his office. He had been warm, but weathered. The lines had shown on his face--the exhaustion and pain and age had caught up with him. Maddie had stayed the night on his couch. They watched terrible movies in Russian, laughing over the ridiculous punch lines and even, while against his orders from the hospital, imbibed in a little vodka.

"Where did you learn to drink?" he laughed as she tossed back the splash of alcohol he'd poured into a tumbler for her.

She blushed bright pink, shrugging just barely as she flashed back to her fifth year of Hogwarts--how she had met and fallen in love with the students from Durmstrang. How Katja had given her vodka as a present and she'd spent the rest of the year doing her best to fit in with them. How the next year, she followed their individual pursuits in the papers, drinking a shot to their victories when with Constance. Or how she had, during her seventh year, gifted a bottle to another fifth year--like herself--who had felt so desperately out of place. The memories were bittersweet.

Their conversations had dwindled until they fell asleep to the soft commercials of the late-night television, Maddie drifting into a restless sleep. Her father, however, slept the best he had in years. The next morning, the familiar pain of a heart attack came and went, so he didn't mention it. By three o'clock, he was gasping for air in the middle of a class, taken quickly to the hospital, where he died before he ever was admitted. The family was alerted as quickly as the owl could get there. And JJ had been the one to keep Maddie on her feet as her mother sent word with the owl. Literally.

"Let's go break something," she'd offered, her voice full of uncertainty.

The blonde consented because while they threw plates, the shattered pieces breaking the way she felt broken, she could pretend the news didn't exist. That the owls that piled up from all sides of the world weren't true. That the flowers at the funeral home weren't from former students and friends. That seeing Katja or Jana or any of the others who had, at some point, cared for her and her father were nonexistent. They broke plates until Maddie was screaming from the pain of losing her best friend and from accidentally smashing her fingers on the counter as she miscalculated where to throw the plate through her blurry, tear-filled eyes.

Seasons passed and JJ drifted into herself, her mother worked long hours in the broom shops, the house in Paris sold. The house in England, sold. Maddie had enough money from her father's will to buy her own place to live, but she refused to touch it. Because if she used it, that would be admitting he was gone. She had barely gotten through the funeral. But now that things had calmed, she could repeat her daily mantra of merely pretending he was still half a world away. And for a while, she believed it. Until the day when she apparated to Durmstrang, walked through the halls, and opened the office to find someone else's things, someone else's furniture. The shock had sent her reeling, all the way back to London, splinching herself in the process. Someone wanted to take her to Mungo's, but she refused like a horse in a barn full of fire. She knew that she needed help, but she was terrified of having to walk through the doors to get it.

She was certain, now, that if she went in, she would never come out.

Years went by, Maddie turned twenty-two, and her friendship with JJ had taken a sharp, dramatic turn. While she worked, during the day, at a studio making her own art to sell, during the late evening and into the early hours of the morning, she bartended at a local pub. Every once in a while, her friend would pop in, do her best to convince her that the job wasn't suitable for her, and then they would meet in the bathroom--JJ's antics were teenage at best, but they never failed. Maddie liked to be wanted. And when her friend was ripping the buttons off of her shirts or gripping her hair a little too hard, when the blonde whispered "Mind your manners!", her lips swollen and likely bloody from a nip turned into a bite, she meant something totally different.

In fact, during her brief flashes with JJ, when the girl hunted her like a jungle cat would stalk its prey, it was the only time Maddie didn't feel the desperate ache of her family falling to pieces, one cog at a time.

steviedrabble @ 2012-02-25T21:33:00

2012-02-26T02:06:44Z

The books knew that if their master wasn't around,
they had an ally in Corbin Finch-Fletchley.
Adjustment

Every day was different. Every day had something new to offer.

And none of them had been worthy of Tanner's attention for a very long time.

The new owner of Flourish & Blotts, Tanner Higgs had spent the majority of his time after graduating Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry trying to make certain his sister made it out after him. He had moved as close to the castle as possible, had purchased several owls, and kept a special journal to ensure that whatever her classes may be, she would graduate because he had proofed her homework. The thought had never occurred to her that one day--he might not be there to help her anymore.

But after having taken such desperate measures to ensure that she made it out alive, there was nothing left for him to do once she had. His time spent with his books was lonely. And while his thoughts lingered once or twice on a suitable wife his parents had requested many times in their letters, he spent very little of his efforts on pleasing them.

Most of his time, in fact, was spent thinking after his friends and where they had gone. What they had become. Who they had created. Where they would end up.

Notably, his greatest friendship had hit a rough patch during school and had never really regained momentum.

At a societal function, Tanner was seated next to a lovely blonde who inquired nonstop about his life, his money, his family, his friends. It blurred into four hours of chatter in which he spoke very little. Instead, he competed inside his head with how to charm his latest set of books. Once he'd been done with helping JJ, he moved on to charming his books--which people bought from his home on many occasions.

Until his parents bought Flourish & Blotts as a present--providing he took a wife.

That was why he was seated at a table listening to the chatter. He felt no passion for the woman next to him. He never would. Every once in a while, however, he would catch sight of a brunette who would look just like her and his breath would catch. And his heart would stop. And his head would swim.

But then she was gone and it wasn't her at all. And life went on.

The announcement of Corbin's wedding to Dexter Hawley had been no surprise. But his friend had been there to help with the books as often as possible, stocking the shelves expertly because he knew exactly where the books belonged and how to treat them. By his sixth year of school, Corbin had been included in the loyalty charms. The books knew that if their master wasn't around, they had an ally in Corbin Finch-Fletchley.

Everything had been quiet that day. The bell rang, tinkling gently as the door knocked into it, letting Tanner know he had a customer. It was, as always, Corbin, who mused silently over the new selections--smarter than most as he kept his hands to himself. He never touched the books without permission or a reason. "These look interesting," he mused to his friend, lifting his face to look at the bookshop owner with a little bit of pity and sadness and regret.

"Yes. I just received them from Beijing," the other man explained, his arms hung loosely at his sides.

"Anything I might like?"

Tanner slide from behind the counter and wandered along the shelves, eventually reaching for a top shelf item, which he slid from its place and settled into his friend's waiting hands. The cover read 'The Man's Guide to the Woman's World of Weddings and What Comes After' in worn letters. Corbin laughed, something that was rare to hear for anyone but Tanner, who had been there for probably every time he ever had.

"How very fitting."

"I thought you might require something of this genre. Considering."

Corbin nodded, running his fingers over the leather. "Yes. Considering. I came here to ask you to be the best man in my wedding. Dexter insists there be people at this thing, so I would expect no one else to stand there beside me while I go through this for her." For us, he meant to say. But it was somewhat true. The wedding was for Dexter. The marriage was for the both of them. He didn't really care about vows or cake or people.

"Oh."

Tanner had expected something along those lines, but he knew that he had no opportunity of saying no. After many years of friendship, despite the hardest ones as of late, it would be rude to say no. He nodded his head, trying to offer a small smile. "It would be my pleasure," he managed to reply, though he knew, if he was ever expected to give some kind of a toast, his tone would need an adjustment.

steviedrabble @ 2012-02-24T17:10:00

2012-02-24T21:19:52Z

When the pair reached the doors of the castle,
the top lifted off with the help of tiny sugar birds,
and the wedding cake rested inside, perfection.
Castle

In many ways, Riley Bexton had changed considerably from his time spent at both Salem Prep and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He grew from a boy with a penchant for trouble into a man with a heart for fun--but a mind for the battlefield of quidditch. After being drafted, the nonsense went out the window. He no longer sought the approval of anyone else. He merely cared about himself. What he had to say. And if others happened to seek out his friendship, well, he never said no.

So maybe that was why, when Feiyi Moon had come to him with the idea of entering a gingerbread contest, he agreed.

They had 24 hours to assemble a gingerbread house to appeal to a couple who would rather have a christmas wedding --and therefore a christmas dessert-- than a wedding cake. Or, well, a traditional one, anyway.

The only catch was that it couldn't be a house.

In keeping with their theme, Riley and Feiyi had analyzed all of the information given to them. And after working mercilessly for at least eighteen hours straight, they spent the last six baking a wedding cake, decorating it flawlessly, which they carefully used magic to settle inside of their creation.

---

After the judging, they had been one of two couples remaining. Exhausted and barely able to stand, they leaned on each other for support, Feiyi--bubbly and sweet, Riley--enthusiastic and energetic. Together, they had made a six foot dream castle enrobed in white chocolate bricks with modeled horses pulling a carriage in which the couple would step out of--at least the sugar versions. When the pair reached the doors of the castle, the top lifted off with the help of tiny sugar birds, and the wedding cake rested inside, perfection.

"I never thought we'd win!" she confided to her partner, her giggles barely hidden as she gripped his arm.

He looked down at his companion, grinning. "Me either. But I guess they your sugar birds."

"Or your horses!"

"Or the delicate lines on all of those cotton candy trees."

"Or--"

Riley cut off her sentence by pressing his lips against hers, a hand cupping her cheek. She tasted just as sweet as she sounded. It could have been all the sugar they had ingested so far--but he liked to imagine she was always this delightful.

She blushed five shades of pink. "I suppose we'll have to agree to disagree on the best part."

"Oh, no," he shook his head, tangling his sticky fingers with hers. "No. The best part was doing this with you."

steviedrabble @ 2012-02-16T12:59:00

2012-02-16T17:17:27Z

"Oh! That's a great idea," she enthused.
He could practically see the scribbled hearts
flashing above her head as she said it.
Everything about Feiyi was pink and bubbly and sweet.
SUGAR

It wasn't that he couldn't compete with all of the things that Feiyi's vast knowledge of pastries projected on a day to day basis. And when Quinn had confided in her that he wanted to learn how to decorate cookies, nicely, she had been nothing less than absolutely thrilled to take him to the kitchen and put him to work.

What she didn't expect was for Riley Bexton to have been expecting her.

She had made cookies the night before, since it was easier to let them firm up before decorating, and she was too busy explaining how to mix the icing together to notice that a key ingredient was missing from her piping bag as she slowly showed him how to pipe a line of icing around the edge of the cookie and then follow through with it by flooding the inside edges. Shaking the first cookie, a frog, she let it settle before watching him as he made his. Her technique was so much easier than whatever he had done in the past, he had realized, and together, they managed to get through four dozen cookies which they planned to take back to their respective houses to share.

"Maybe it wouldn't hurt to taste test?" he teased quietly, since really, all he wanted was a cookie.

"Oh! That's a great idea," she enthused. He could practically see the scribbled hearts flashing above her head as she said it. Everything about Feiyi was pink and bubbly and sweet.

The moment the cookie pressed down into his mouth, he felt himself gag.

Feiyi had a similar reaction, though her expression quickly turned to puzzlement. "Quinn, you poured the sugar, didn't you?"

He was eager to assist her by showing what he'd done and how much he'd used. And it wasn't until she stuck her fingers in the bag to test the sugar that she realized they'd been duped.

steviedrabble @ 2012-02-16T09:49:00

2012-02-16T16:39:21Z

Her mother's mouth wide with shock
and almost something akin to humor.
"I didn't know you felt that way."
"Bullshit" Alice parroted, letting the door slam shut
as she made her exit.
ENOUGH

The point of the exercise was mute. She had been done with her mother many years ago. Sitting there in the plush office, tangled in the burgundy armchair, she was doing her best to look something other than bored. Except, like mothers somehow do, Haven suspected her daughter's resistance.

"This is supposed to be a bonding exercise," she whittled, digging her claws into the girl who was seated in the armchair across from her. "We are supposed to work on being a family."

Except that the word family was the one that dug its claws in this time.

She remained quiet, thoughtful, as she gathered herself, preparing to make a hasty exit. Until the doctor held a hand up to each side, sensing that the girl wouldn't talk and the mother would never stop. "I think that we should let Alice have a turn for a while," he explained, extending a small marble that had signified their voice in the debates between the two sides of the argument.

Looking at the polished surface, she realized that it was the same color as the tombstone they had just picked out for the gravestone for her grandparents. Dell had died of a heart attack--Heather had died of heartbreak. At the double funeral, Alice had been calm, receptive to family, and managing with the many children that scampered about. Great Grandchildren, nieces, nephews, cousins--so many people. The situation had made her head positively swirl with how many people had come to lend their voices to the tragedy of losing two grandparents, especially a couple as close as they had been. The only one who failed to remain civil had been Haven Connolly, with her latest child and stepchildren in tow. Her husband had been delayed, kept because of an outbreak in Bulgaria. It hurt Alice to see her there with three children, of which two were not her blood. It hurt because her mother never cared enough to take her anywhere. And yet--she was grateful that she was capable of caring for those children, capable of loving and laughing.

But it made her realize that all her life, the problem hadn't been her mother. It had been herself.

"Alice?"

Twin curtains of raven hair swung as her gaze drifted up, her eyes snagging on the hand holding the marble. "I--" she started to say. "I have nothing to add. I--" she began again, gathering her few things, checking her watch, preparing for a hasty escape. "Dinner plans at six," she explained, standing up. "I have to go."

Haven groaned, gesturing toward her daughter as if to say This is what I have to deal with. The doctor was patient, but uncomfortable, at least for the girl, who seemingly had no interest in staying. "Why don't you just share a few words with us, maybe..." he paused, flipping through his notes. "Share a time that made you feel happy."

"I can't," she answered, sliding on her coat, wrapping the bright red scarf around her neck. "I don't have time."

"Bullshit!" her mother snarled.

The doctor waved her down with his hand, his expression quickly becoming exasperated. It was clear that he would get nothing done with either of them if the energy in the room didn't change. He stood, crossing the room to follow Alice, who had already opened and closed the door behind her, left in search of a place where her mother could not dictate her actions. He found her in the hall, her back pressed against the wall, all composure lost from her face. It was the first time he had seen her, noticed the stress, the loss, the daily cost of living. "I didn't know," he explained, but in the moment he spoke, she was gone, like an elastic band stretched too far and snapped back together--like nothing was wrong. Nothing had changed. No physical evidence remained of the moment when he had seen the real girl beneath the mask. "Can you--" he started to speak, but she had already begun to walk back into the room, where she settled back into the chair, much to her mother's satisfaction.

Instead of the tolerance, however, he noticed something else. A driving force. He started to jot down the notes, but he almost noticed as it was too late. She looked determined.

"All of my life I have let you tell me who to be and what to do and where to go," Alice offered crisply, like someone paying another person for their silence in a matter. Like someone ready to take a bullet or personally dismantle a bomb. "I was the child you didn't want. Maybe I wasn't pretty enough or smart enough or nice enough for you--"

Haven started to speak, but it was Alice's turn to stop her dead in her tracks. "ENOUGH!" she seethed.

"I have had enough. I have lived with you riddling me with insecurities my entire life. And enough is enough. I am done with listening to you--with letting you badger me into doing what you want. I stood there while they put your mother and father in the ground, my grandparents and the closest thing to real parents that I have ever had, while you complained about the flowers, while you complained about the grave site and the wind and the rain and if someone cried too loudly. Never once did I hear remorse that they were gone. Never once did I hear you care about them."

Now she stood.

"Well, the truth is, You are not my mother. You have never been and will never be. You are the mother of those three children now--the ones with your new last name. So stop pretending that you have ever cared for me. Because as long as I have existed and for the rest of the time here on earth that I do, I will never care for you again."

She gathered her things, her mother's mouth wide with shock and almost something akin to humor. "I didn't know you felt that way."

"Bullshit," Alice parroted, letting the door slam shut as she made her exit.

- - - - - - -

The months that followed the formal disowning of any family who had ever tried to make her reconnect with her mother were hard. Her father had never been part of the picture and never would be. She felt like he was a coward--living in the past, never willing to move forward and claim what was right. The blame, yes, somewhat rested on his shoulders for not taking better care of Ash--but for how many years would he continue to act like the accident had been yesterday?

Cutting off ties to the people who tried to mold her, however, made her stronger. Happier.

And for the first time in years, when Fred Weasley asked her to tea, she agreed, meeting him with a hug and a smile that had finally reached her eyes.

steviedrabble @ 2012-02-16T07:41:00

2012-02-16T12:21:39Z

"Alexander, it's time to go!" she warned the boy
who had doggedly made his way back to the street
to chase the snowflakes like a kitten with butterflies
EXCUSE

It was cold enough that the precipitation falling from the sky had crystallized and was floating down in tiny flakes of pure white which landed on everything and yet did not stick The flakes of rain dust had settled sweetly on the ends of noses, on the tips of fingers, on hot tongues and eyelashes. If it weren't for the snow--their morning would have been absolutely miserable. But as the world was swirling with white, the aggravation of their usual bustling was made peaceful--their pace had slowed considerably.

They stopped in Diagon Alley that morning to pick up a take-away breakfast for Alexander, who was fussing at her side, a ball of light-haired, furious inconvenience. He was five and full of energy, and yet, sick as a dog. So sick, in fact, that they were on their way to their monthly meeting at St. Mungo's with his pediatrician. It was too much for a single mother who refused to accept help from anyone. And yet, on that morning, it was all she could do to keep from screaming.

As he danced around in the snow, whirling and shouting and kicking up piles of it to playfully enjoy the weather, Alice remembered that her brother used to be similar, in a way. He had enjoyed life. Perhaps not quite so fully as her son--but it had been there. She knew why she had stopped. Even so, his presence in her life had changed her in so many ways and the small smile that never reached her eyes had tried that day as he spun in circles until he was so dizzy that he fell flat on his butt and looked around, dizzily, to find who had had the audacity to push him.

"Up you go," she offered quietly, her voice lacking any cheer as she watched the blood drain from his face. It was an odd disorder. His reason for visiting the healers every month. She reached into the take-away bag for a package of apple slices that she opened and then pressed into his hands. He started to eat with his mittens still on and while this was amusing, it was also terribly impractical. It frustrated her.

She started to say something, but he was suddenly looking off, not paying the least bit of attention to her as a group of rowdy men scrambled into the street, laughing and joking around with each other. "Mum!" he whispered excitedly, ignoring the apples altogether. "Mum! That's the Canadian quidditch player!!"

Her son, like his father, was interested in a great many things. And like her family--quidditch was always one of them.

Riley Bexton, as she had known him in her seventh year of school, had been on of the few Canadian quidditch players to rise to stardom. And he was rarely without a fan base or a group of friends. Among them, this time, were his usual entourage.

It was her face that turned white.

"Up!" she whispered fiercely, ignoring the mittens and the apples as she tried to scramble her way out of the street and back on their usual route. Except he had no reservations as he dashed away from her and toward the men where he held out his red pair of mittens and the apple slice in his right hand, his eyes wide as he stared up at the professional sports players. "Sign something for me, please?!"

If only the Please! could save them, she thought, impossibly frustrated.

Bexton gave a broad grin as he popped down to his knees, taking the mittens from the boy to sign carefully, holding up a delightful conversation with him as another man in the mix caught her eye. It took only a moment for him to cross the distance. "Connolly," he offered, almost quietly, as the time between their last meeting had been long enough for them to both be in quite separate walks of life.

"Poliakoff," she greeted civilly.

Their conversation was light, full of holes, drifting off toward answers and drifting back toward questions. Alice led him on a well-rounded chase for the truth that he would never get. Alexander was herded back over to her by the Bextons who greeted her kindly and then let Vlad know they would meet him in the diner for breakfast. He nodded, showing he had heard, before turning back to pay attention to the pair in front of him. He wanted to ask her to join them. He didn't think the kid would mind.

"Mum!"

The word shot through him like a bullet of ice, freezing everything inside of him. The kid must've said it three more times, because he could literally feel it each time, a puncturing--a change.

"You're a mother?" he asked quietly.

Alice's eyes widened a little, fear shooting across her features. "Alexander, it's time to go!" she warned the boy who had doggedly made his way back to the street to chase the snowflakes like a kitten with butterflies.

"Watch me, mum!"

She started to leave, but Vlad's hand was gripping her arm and she was forced to look back up into his face, her eyes avoiding his gaze, her excuses quick on her lips. But all she could mutter was "He has your eyes," before she pulled out of his grasp, collected her son, and made a hasty escape to St. Mungo's.

steviedrabble @ 2012-02-15T07:29:00

2012-02-15T12:09:27Z

It took six months for them to call each other,
trying to give ample distance, until she breaks down
and dials his number. It rings so many times she
thinks he'll never pick up...
HOME

It takes years. The recovery. Loving someone for so long takes a while to come back from. Maddie understood--she lost her father when she was seventeen--it was as hard as Fred losing Anna. They grieved in their individual ways, shiny eyes, clasped hands, battles with doubt and insecurity. Nights when a bottle had to be pried from a hand. A whisper turned into a lullaby. And embrace lasted the night and well into the next day.

Anna was everything for Fred. His best friend. His girlfriend. His future wife. All of his love had been given to her. All of his dreams had been shared. It was a mystery when she broke off their engagement, returned the ring, and disappeared. When they found her body in Morocco, it was explained that she'd had cancer. The kind that made a person do weird, unexpected things. It made a person say hurtful words or react violently. She disappeared out of her love for Fred--because she didn't want him to remember her like that. He cried every day with the news, his heart torn in a billion pieces.

Maddie's father came before. She'd caught word of an encounter of an escaped criminal in the Ukraine but never knew that her quiet, sweet father would turn vigilante. The blast took them both out of the equation. Her sobs had filled Hogwarts for days. Nothing could keep her from falling apart. Except Fred--who understood that without him, she was lost. Who held her hand when they lowered her father in the ground. Who collected her homework as she lay lifelessly in his bed. Who brought her tea and dinner and quietly read to her until she fell asleep each night and gently woke her before the nightmares could hurt her.

When it was his turn to grieve, she was there at the funeral, her fingers tangled with his. When his grief turned to guilt, because he should have known sooner, she defended him. When he couldn't stand staying with his parents anymore, she offered him her bed in her tiny apartment. She took off weeks at her job to comfort him. She spent all of her time making certain that he would survive the terribly tragedy.

They were glue. Piece by piece, they reattached their broken pieces; not able to repair what was lost, but able to reconstruct.

It took five years before Fred ever realized that Maddie could ever be more than his friend. After her grandmother died, he realized how integrated into her family he was--how all of her relatives knew him. How he was practically a member of what little she'd shared with him. This death was easier, more of a relief, but the routine was familiar. The crying, the nightmares, the whimpered apologies, the nights of baking to avoid sleep, the sleeplessness that came with work, the time spent away from the apartment.

With Maddie's grandmother gone, her mother left the London built business in favor of Paris. The shop was boarded up, abandoned; which was how she felt when she walked down Diagon, remembering the feelings she'd mustered the first time she'd seen it open and the moment that it had been closed. Each nail had felt like a nail in her own coffin.

Things changed between them. There was distance. A distemper that weaseled, slowly, into their relationship until she couldn't take it anymore. She moved out of the apartment, back into her own home, digging through the memories until nothing remained.

Fred threw himself into his work. He blamed himself for the broken ties and each day was like hell without her. No one to comfort him in the night when he dreamed of her. No one to share the joys and the difficulties that came with working with wands. No one to confide in.

It took six months for them to call each other, trying to give ample distance, until she breaks down and dials his number. It rings so many times she thinks he'll never pick up, but his quiet voice on the other end of the line is enough to make her quiver with anxiety. Finally, she hears him sigh.

"Maddie, won't you please just come home?"

steviedrabble @ 2012-02-13T04:25:00

2012-02-13T11:10:29Z

She liked to be needed--
and knowing that he was out there, needing her,
gave her nightmares of her own.
BLINDING

It has been five years since they broke things off. Chase has found his place in the Ministry, not the quidditch pitch, and even though his mother has severed all ties with him, he still finds a way to make room for quidditch when he can. It's a hard feat, considering the long hours as an auror, and as a new one at that. Most aurors think quidditch is beneath them. But he can't help the fact that flying is in his blood. It's what ensures that he remembers to breathe every morning.

It's a typical Tuesday--muffin Tuesday--as he makes his way through Diagon Alley, headed for the little bakery that's tucked off the side of the cauldron store. He's wearing his long robes, his stance tired and impatient, considering the line for the bakery is so long and he's already quite late for work. So he crosses his arms as he stands there, tapping his right foot with annoyance when he was to blink a few times to see down the row of stores and shops. There's some small shiny object pinging light back into his eyes and no matter how he adjusts, he can't get it out of his line of vision. He asks the man behind him to hold his spot before he goes off, searching for whatever it might be that is so incredibly distracting.

And he stops dead when he sees that the dangerously bright glimmer is the sunlight reflecting off of a piece of jewelry around the neck of his exgirlfriend, Clover, whom he hasn't seen in five years.

After graduation, they had said their goodbyes, parted quickly, painfully, and after a few months, he truly began to regret how their relationship had ended. Over jealousy. Over something so simple and stupid. He stopped dating after he realized that no one could ever fill the hole that she'd left. He tried keeping the bed warm with a different stranger every night, but that only made him understand how much he needed her in his life. To calm things--to ease the bottle out of his hand when situations were rough. To make him stop what he was doing to find a way to make her happy. To accept the small, simple things in life. But in her absence, everything had fallen apart.

"Clover," he offered quietly, reaching up carefully to give the locket a nudge with his fingers, which shook just barely as they touched her skin. She hitched in a breath, surprised to see him--surprised that he would be so brave as to touch her--before she recovers with a tentative smile.

"Chase! How lovely to see you!" she answers quickly, sweeping him into a hug before he can object. She gives him a once over, her smile somewhat contagious as she brings a hand up to hide the locket, a precious piece that he had given her as a sign of his affection in her seventh year. Their relationship together had ended, but the memories did not. She, too, had dated and had found many men to be sweet and thoughtful--but none of them were gruff like him. None of them needed her help in the way that he did. None of them called for her in the middle of the night while they thrashed with nightmares. She liked to be needed--and knowing that he was out there, needing her, gave her nightmares of her own.

He brushed his hair in many different directions, his fingers combing through it to make it as presentable as possible, though, really, all he did was make a mess. "How've you been?" he feels himself asking, though the man from the line is trying to wave him back--their spots have moved closer to the door. He ignores the man, reasoning that he didn't really need a muffin that morning.

They stood there for a few minutes, exchanging pleasantries, each wishing they could somehow find the words to say what they really meant.

His spot at the bakery has disappeared, but he stays there, looking into her eyes until his heart feels close to breaking. He can't stand to look at her anymore. He waves at the line, beginning to dismiss himself. "Well, I guess I'd better get going. Work and what have you," he says, though his eyes whisper I need you.

"Oh, yes!" she answers, picking up her own things from where she had settled them on the ground beside her. She swings the straps of her purse over her shoulder and smiles brightly. "Have a wonderful day, Chase. It was so nice to see you!" But her eyes whisper I miss you.

And as they part, neither of them can see the blinding truth. That they won't survive this world without each other. That apart, they are stunted and together, they can do almost anything. If they really try.

steviedrabble @ 2012-02-10T05:11:00

2012-02-10T09:22:19Z

She made him want to live--
even after everything he'd ever stood for
had been ripped out from under him.
SLEEP

The snow is pouring down on the front walkway like it has a mission to drown the world in its white, crisp embrace and as Leila pushes the curtains back in place, closing them to keep in the warm and keep out the cold, she sighs a little, confused as to how the weather conditions had changed so drastically so quickly. She crosses the length of the room and stares pointedly out the front door, watching through three small, square windows at the top of of the stairs as she waits for her boss to return. It's much too cold, much too dangerous, to be out in something like this.

She frets for another ten minutes before she starts dinner, throwing together a dinner for two before an hour had passed. And he still hadn't returned home.

After another hour has gone by, she gives the house one last look over, considering her job is technically finished at seven pm and she turns as she disapparates into thin air, hoping that the charms on the house will hold until he gets there.

Chase Harper rolls into the threshold at a hair past eleven. There's at least a foot of snow by now and he shivers as he shakes it off, ignoring the clumps of snow in his boots as he peels off his outer layers and trips up the steps, barely able to hold himself upright as he does every night. Every night he drinks until they cut him off at the pub down the street. Every night, he tries to forget her.

Every night, he dreams and wakes up begging never to sleep again.

He slips soundlessly into the kitchen and reaches into the oven without a mitt to pull out the pan of baked chicken waiting for him. The obscenities that roll past his lips as his hands touch the meltingly hot porcelain dish are well suited to the situation and his hands are quick to find their way under cool water. He remembers doing something so stupid in school. And she laughed at him. And she suggested how to pull out the burn with her extensive knowledge of plants and herbs.

It was not the first time she'd saved him.

The year he broke his back--the year everything changed--she didn't offer him pity. She told him that maybe her team would have a chance to beat him now. She laughed at him. She made him want to crawl out of the bed and make things right again. She made him want to live--even after everything he'd ever stood for had been ripped out from under him.

When he didn't make the quidditch team in his seventh year--she told him she would miss playing against him. When he didn't make the Pros the following year--she told him to keep trying. Because she couldn't wait to kick his ass on a real pitch. When it was apparent that he would never play again, she bought him a drink and promised to kick his ass at something. And every week, at seven on a Friday night, she would buy him a drink and promise the same thing.

Before long, he looked forward to it. They were unlikely friends. But things changed, somehow, and as he realized he had fallen for her--she started bringing a friend to the bar. And everything shifted again. It was clear that she had found someone serious after two years of doing the same thing. And then finally, she didn't show up on Fridays anymore. And the next time he saw her, she had a ring on her finger, still somehow shocked that she'd been asked and that she had agreed.

Every night since had haunted him with questions.

Before long, she had grown up, settled down, had children and sent them off to school. She played quidditch until she was too old for that. She found something else to fill her days, each hour more exciting than the last.

And every day turned into a Friday as he bought himself a drink and started conversations with a long gone woman that he had fallen in love with. And every night, when his head touched that pillow, he dreamed of her and what might have been.

steviedrabble @ 2011-12-31T20:01:00

2012-01-01T00:16:43Z

Jingle Bell time is a swell time, to rock the night away!
JINGLE BELL ROCK

It was probably the most idiotic thing they had ever had to do. But in the vein of celebrating the holiday and promoting their team, everyone from the Hogwarts group was dressed head to toe in reindeer garb. It was likely to the great amusement of their Coach. Somehow, they had convinced someone to dress up as Santa Claus.

"This is bullshit," Chase Harper snarled under his breath, hopping from one foot to the other in agonized "choreographed delight", as phrased by one of the women brought in to put the whole thing together. His counterpart, Elliot Goldstein, was Vixen, dancing with jingle bells rolling around her middle.

She rolled her eyes and nodded at him, shaking her head to the beat as the crowd of Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, and Salemites (along with the rest of the school) laughed at them, her antlers bobbing annoyingly. "How did we get ourselves involved in this mess?" she grumbled, hips shimmying to the music.

Jingle Bell time is a swell time, to rock the night away!

"To your left!" he instructed, sashaying as the antlers weaved on his head. She jolted back to attention, trying to catch the proper beat, but every step was on the offbeat. As she zigged, he zagged, and before long, their Jingle Bell Square was a Jingle Bell massacre as Charles and Garrett, with a long piece of tinsel and garland, managed to take out all of them, tripping the entire team for a dramatic finish. The only person standing was Eddie. And it was likely because she refused to participate.

"Merry fucking Christmas," Chase snarled, ripping the antlers off of his head as he threw them to the side, much to the delight of the Salem students, who chortled with laughter, reaching for them from the stands.

"You're not all that much fun either," she snapped, taking off her antlers as she 'danced' and 'pranced' off of the pitch and back toward the lockers; jingling all the way.

steviedrabble @ 2011-11-20T15:23:00

2011-11-20T19:43:21Z

She was certain he would know what she
was going to tell him just by looking at her.
But he was silent, reaching over to offer her a
gentle kiss for security and strength.
“You can tell me anything.”
CONFESSION

She wrung her hands together, wishing desperately that she didn’t have to tell him. She would give anything to keep him safe. To keep him happy and to never have to lie to him. Except that she already had been for weeks. Months.

“I love you,” she started, her voice shaking a little as she turned to find her place in the old leather seat across from him, her eyes a startling green that held an abrupt amount of concern. She was certain he would know what she was going to tell him just by looking at her. But he was silent, reaching over to offer her a gentle kiss, for security and strength.

“You can tell me anything,” he assured her, his dirty blond hair and brown eyes made him look mousy and adoring.

She nodded a little. “I know. But it doesn’t make it any easier.”

Quinn wondered what she might have to tell him that was so hard to take, but didn’t say anything. He just murmured encouragingly.

“I—” she started to confess. And then Sidney bit her tongue; the words rolled out flatly moments after she had mustered the courage to continue. “August kissed me. Twice. We kissed, Quinn. That means that I cheated on you. And I’m so sorry. I didn’t meant to do it, but it happened. And I didn’t think that I should keep it from you anymore.”

“Oh,” he answered quietly. “Right.”

Sidney felt the blush curl onto her cheeks with a touch of anger. She had cheated on him. Wasn’t he going to say anything? If it had been the other way around—She almost wanted to slap him to make sure that he was listening.

“Did you hear me?” she asked.

Quinn nodded once, rubbing his hands together as they sat near the fire in their special spot. It hadn’t been hard to transfigure. “I heard you. I don’t know what you expect me to do about it,” he divulged a little helplessly.

“Do something!” she almost yelled. “For fuck’s sake, say something. Feel something. You cared so much when that bitch from Beauxbaton had poor insults to say to me, but now you say nothing? I guess you don’t care that I cheated on you with August!”

He struggled; trying to find the right words was impossible. “That’s not—I just—what I mean is—”

“Do you understand how hard it was to tell you? How tempting it was to keep things the same, so that you would never know? Because I didn’t want to hurt you, Quinn,” her voice lulled, softened, almost dangerously so.

The boy looked away, feeling the sting then, understanding that even after all these years, she was still that little girl protecting him on the playground. It was just that..this time, she was the bully. “Sid,” he started, testing his voice as he leaned carefully on the chair beneath him, wondering if it could hold the weight of himself and the words that she’d tossed at him.

She only stared at him, willing herself not to get emotional. She was stronger than this. The last time she had cried, really cried, was when her father died. Ever since, she had locked a piece of herself away, deep deep down inside. And she wasn’t about to let it out again for a dumb mistake. Even if her dumb mistake made her feel like the entire world rotated around her. Even if her dumb mistake made her feel special and loved. Even if he made her want to be a different person. “I’m sorry,” she finally whispered, her eyes red from holding back tears, her voice husky with it. “I’m sorry that I ruined what we had.”

“No,” he replied. “Please, it’s fine. I understand.”

And again, she wanted to scream and shout and hit him with the nearest object. Because as long as he lived, she knew he would never be self-serving. Never would he stick up for himself. “Quinn, you are so fucking messed up,” she laughed a little. “But you really needy to..to stick up for yourself. Even if it’s to me.”

He moved from his feet to kneel at her feet and he rested his head against her legs, just content to be where she was, as she gently rubbed her fingers through his hair comfortingly. Because even if they weren’t together, they would still always be friends. For the rest of their lives, they would be close enough to be considered family. But there was really no other word for the bond the two of them had cultivated. “I love you, Sid,” he offered meekly.

“I love you, too, Quinn,” she replied, sliding off the chair to sit next to him on the floor. He moved so that she had enough room and she wrapped her arms around him and held him close.

steviedrabble @ 2011-11-14T23:47:00

2011-11-15T04:06:34Z

And as tempting as it was to say yes,
he shook his head. "I'm not about to waste thirteen
years of sobriety on cheap vodka--"
Mags gasped in mock horror. "This is Grey Goose,
I'll have you know!"
ALCOHOL

"Hi, I'm Quinn Wilson and I've been sober for thirteen years." There was a smattering of applause. The turn out that evening had been small; the chairs were mostly empty. It wasn't a surprise, really, considering that it was a holiday. He continued to talk, explaining his involvement in the program, how he was a director now, how he had come so far. And how incredible it was to be where he was now.

But Quinn couldn't help but notice the lack of his friend, Margaret, from the metal folding chairs. He had hoped that she would attend, despite her cousin's party at his large home, but she clearly couldn't ignore the opportunities of New Year's Eve. As the meeting came to an end, he smiled as the members, and their friends, grabbed the last of the cookies from the trays and filed into their cars or onto the buses taking them back to their respective centers.

He was closing the doors to the building, shutting off lights, sweeping up crumbs and putting away chairs when there was a loud bang at the door. And then a sharp wail of pain.

Looking up with surprise, he jogged toward the door with broom in hand. And the sight of a drunken Mags, complete with vodka bottle in hand, was a hard one to take in. He ushered her inside, his lips tight with the words he wanted to say, but wouldn't. "Let me take that," he offered, reaching for the glass container, sliding her fingers from the neck. She whined a little, furrowing her brows in confusion, but let him have it anyway.

"Happy New Year!" she shouted, throwing her arms around his neck, dragging her toes a little as he continued to walk inside. She just felt so happy. Why didn't Quinn feel so happy, too? Wasn't that why he asked her to come here? To feel happy? When he didn't respond the way she expected, she let go of him and flounced toward a chair, dropping onto it, though she nearly toppled off due to unexpected balance issues.

He nodded, continuing his efforts to sweep up so he could get her home. "How much have you had to drink?"

"You're no fun!" she accused quickly. "But just enough. I think they spiked the jello. Oh well! More for me! Where'd you put my vodka?" She searched for it once, but his expression made her quickly reevaluate. "Oh, Quinn, don't be mad at me! Please! It's the holidays! Everyone drinks on the holidays! C'mon. A shot. For each of us. In celebration of the new year."

And as tempting as it was to say yes, he shook his head. "I'm not about to waste thirteen years of sobriety on cheap vodka--"

Mags gasped in mock horror. "This is Grey Goose, I'll have you know!"

"You know what I mean," he answered, rolling his eyes a little. "Whether it's two dollars a bottle or fifteen-hundred, you couldn't pay me to drink it. You couldn't hold me at knife point to drink it. I don't need alcohol to have a good time anymore. And neither do you."

But she was quickly dissolving into tears, apologizing, swaying off the chair to hide her face in her hands. To get away from him. "I'm sorry!" she wept. "I just want to go home. Quinn, please take me home?" And without another word, he abandoned the broom, swept her into his arms and tucked her into his car, no questions asked, no reprimands made.

They followed the stars home, avoided accidents on the free way, and he considered taking her to her own apartment. But at the thought of what might wait there, he opted for his own home, where he would let her have his bed to sleep off her partying gone awry and he would spend the rest of the night daydreaming about one sweet sip of alcohol.

steviedrabble @ 2011-07-09T20:56:00

2011-07-10T00:24:20Z

She bent over to place something in a box
and he took another thing out,
trying very hard to keep her from leaving.
But the harder he worked to displace her stuff,
the more heated she became.
GONE

"Things change," she explained, packing the last of her belongings in the few cardboard boxes that were scattered by the door. She bent over to place something in a box and he took another thing out, trying very hard to keep her from leaving. But the harder he worked to displace her stuff, the more heated she became. Until she had thrown a book at his face and it hit hard enough to cause the boy to gush blood.

Wounded in the heart and wounded in the face, Hunter reeled back, confused. "I came back for you. To be with you. I tried to help you and you're leaving?" he gasped, a hand held over his nose, his eyes scrunched up in disdain and embarrassment. "You can't just leave," he started to yell. "You can't just LEAVE."

Amandine didn't care. She'd had enough of Hunter. Enough of his disapproval. Enough of knowing that he had a kid and another woman that he'd shared a part of his life with. She knew that he was cut off of because of her. Enough of all of it. She couldn't live her life if he was still around. Not really. His sad, puppy dog eyes made her reconsider buying a six pack or think twice about trading a fifty for a bag of white powder.

She didn't speak until the boxes were full and another man stepped through the door, reaching down to help her remove her life from the dingy apartment and take it somewhere else.

Hunter stood there, shocked, embittered, enraged, hurt, batter, sore, and lost. Just stood there and took it, for once feeling terribly empty and full of emotion at the same time. He didn't get it. He didn't understand.

"Goodbye," she offered coldly, yet fondly, as she left the apartment, closing the door with a quiet click. And he stood there for nearly a day, just watching the door. The second day went past, finding him lying on the carpet. He didn't eat, he didn't sleep. He just lay there. Thinking. Figuring. Deciding how it all went wrong.

steviedrabble @ 2011-06-09T23:44:00

2011-06-10T06:56:08Z

But again, he was off--traipsing through
a world of mystery in his own head, lost.
With no concern for the future.
FUTURE

It was probably one of the things the hungry boy heard the most out of the mouths of his friends and family, his dark eyes jetting over the image of the family picture. He had no future if he stayed on the path he was going down. He heard it from his mother, his father, his brothers, even his kid sister. He heard it a lot--from everyone--and it drove him crazy.

Of course he had a future.

"Where do you think you'll be ten years from now?" Bianca spat at him, repeating a line she'd heard her mother say earlier that day to one of their older brothers. Hunter had just borrowed fifty dollars from her, glassy-eyed and awkward. His look was almost predatory, as though he needed that money badly enough that he might do something drastic--but his face softened and she realized he was about as threatening as a kitten. Her bright eyes shone with tears in the lighting of the kitchen, her hands were balled into fists at her sides, held down as she shook in pure rage. She shouldn't have to deal with her own brother robbing her of her money. But she gave it to him when he asked, slid the bill into his hand and let him go, the question hanging in the air. Hunter wondered briefly if she expected an answer right then.

But he didn't give it to her if that's really what she meant. If she wanted a straight up reply, she wouldn't get it from him. He pushed his way from the inside out, stopping on the terrace, lighting up a joint before he inhaled the smoke and prayed he'd get his high back. He was going to need it. He always needed it--to forget.

---

"What do you see for our future?" Melanie whispered in the park, her knees curled up against her chest, her arms wrapped around them. "Really, with a child everything changes. And I'm scared, Hunter. I can't--I don't think I can do this. Have a kid: be a mother." Hunter didn't know if she could as easily handle the alternative. But he didn't say a word. Just shoved pills down his throat like they were water and he was a misplaced fish on the beach shore, waiting desperately for the tide to pull him back in.

She knew he wasn't listening, so she took his hands in her lap. "Hunter," she implored quietly. "This is important. It's about our future," she repeated. "And not just ours, but a baby's. Can we be parents to a baby? Will they let drug addicts do that?" Hunter didn't know the answer. He was still too busy being caught up in his own little world, the shakes starting as he started to come down from his high. He had no shame as he pulled out a rolled cigarette and started to smoke. They used to share drugs: he offered it to her after he took a few hits, but she waved it away, looking at him as if he actually were crazy.

"That's what I'm saying, Hunter. Don't you hear me? I'm asking you what we should do!" Her pleading was intensified as she started to cry, passionate tears flooding down her cheeks. "I don't know what to do and you're sitting there getting high! Would you pay attention to me? Hunter! This is important!"

But again, he was off--traipsing through a world of mystery in his own head, lost. With no concern for the future.

---

When Melanie left, something inside of Hunter broke. He picked the lock on her house, swung up into her room and ripped through it, trying to find a letter addressed to him that her parents had neglected to send. Something. Anything. But she was gone and this idea was so hard to take that he broke down into a weeping mess of the boy he used to be, curled into a ball on the floor of her room. They called the police, her parents, but he snuck out the window and got away, landing on numb feet that carried him far from her house and onto the cold streets of Chicago.

He spent the next two months in a cardboard box, shivering at night, kicking spiders from the edges and brushing cockroaches from any food people might have thrown at them. Being homeless had its advantages: he didn't have to listen to anyone. Or live up to any expectations. No one knew where he was. No one cared.

Until an old friend happened to stop on the corner, catching a glimpse of his unshaven face, and gasped. "Hunter?" he growled, stalking forward with cat-like grace. "What the fuck, man? People have been looking for you everywhere."

Hunter shrugged, tired, bored. "Do you have any food?"

"What? No," he lifted his hands to show that he didn't have anything. "But I do have a car. And I do have the address to your place. And if you don't want to go there, then you can come to mine. But let's just get out of here. Seriously. When was the last time you showered?"

Dark, unimpressed eyes lifted to stare into the other boy's concerned ones. "I don't want to go anywhere. Do you have any money?"

"No, but--" He reached forward, wrapping his fingers deftly around the shrunken wrist and tugged, trying to off balance his friend enough to get him back to the car. But there was a struggle and then an intense sound of flesh hitting flesh. And then a hiss of pain and the shuffle of feet sliding back onto cardboard.

Hunter looked at him accusingly. "I don't want to go anywhere," he repeated. "I just want to stay here."

"So this is what you are? What you'll be? A fucking street bum? A beggar? This is your future?"

---

The party raged, but inside, a cleaner Hunter stood off to the side, his back to the grungy wall, his eyes glassily watching the laser lights as they shot through the dark, illuminating piles of kids dancing to the sick beat swinging through the place. It was underground, so the sound didn't carry that well. It worked out in their favor--it rarely got busted.

But he wasn't there to dance.

"Hey!" someone shouted at him.

Hunter lifted his head in recognition, nodding a little as he shuffled his way through the grinding couples to get to the person calling for him. He saw a pack of powder, a baggie of rolled paper joints, and a needle.

"First time's free!" the voice told him.

But he wasn't sure. He was tempted, but he was bad enough as it was. He didn't know what he wanted. Until a girl sidled up beside him and whispered in his ear. "I don't think that's what you expect it to be."

He turned to look at her, catching lovely eyes, a crooked smile that promised mystery, and a dark set of locks that made his heart sway. He paid for everything but the heroin and followed after her as she slid through the crowd, leading them to a quieter corner, where she took out her own bag, pounded out a line, and snuffled it up her nose, sighing with the burn. Hunter found himself doing the same.

"I'm Hunter!" he explained.

"I'm nobody," she replied, taking his hand as she led him back out to the dance floor. "It's not like you're going to need my name anyway. We have no future."

---

He woke up, rubbing his eyes, lifting his weight out of the bed just enough so he could lean over to the nightstand and do a quick line before laying back down, his head spinning. Cocaine wasn't cheap but it was something. Something that kept him going. The girl from the nightclub was next to him, scantily clad, and judging from his exhaustion, he was pretty certain they'd done something the night before. Hunter prayed they used a condom before rolling back out of bed to piss and move on to the kitchen, where he would pry open the fridge door and stare at the lack of contents before moving back into the bedroom with a beer.

He nuzzled his face down into the hollow of her neck, pressing chaste kisses there, a little good morning present, before he realized how much alcohol they'd had the night before. There were bottles everywhere and for once, Hunter wondered if this girl was going to be his past or a contributing part of his future.

---

"Where are you going?" she demanded to know, her eyes dark and narrowed, her arms crossed protectively across her chest.

Hunter lit up a cigarette, one of the vices he was still allowed and shakingly shrugged. "Out. I don't know how long it'll take, but when I come back, I'll apparently be a brand new me. With a future and everything. That's what the brochures say. My dad will cover the rent, but that's all. I'll try to send money if I can. Just don't burn the place down."

He exhaled a puff of smoke, shaping it with his lips before she turned to look away from him, scanning the countertops which held dozens of large bottles that used to contain alcohol. Vodka, rum, tequila. You name it, she thought, they had it. Or had had it. Now it was one. Just Amandine. All on her own.

Hunter was leaving her. Going off. Planning to make something of himself. She wished him luck, mockingly, knowing he'd be back. The cruel hooks of cocaine and marijuana and alcohol wouldn't let him go that easily.

She let him kiss her, his embrace full of promising passion, before he left the keys in her hand and turned to leave. "Don't bother to write," she spat. "You'll probably forget who I am in a week."

---

It rained. And rained. And rained. And when it didn't rain, it sleeted. Or hailed. Or snowed. It was rare to catch a day in February when it wasn't coming down. Even then--it was covered in precipitation one way or another. It was cold in Chicago, very cold, but it didn't matter. Hunter would go out in shorts if they'd let him.

Mostly, he just stayed in.

He would draw her face on the window, breathing fog against the glass and tracing her fleeting silhouette into the steam that disappeared or changed to ice. Sometimes he just huffed at the window to no avail. Sometimes they didn't let him watch the rain at all.

He was expected to join the group. To sit there and contribute. He gave them the answers they wanted, explained as much as he could that he was doing this to be Hunter again. Not Hunter-on-the-drugs, but himself. Just Hunter.

With cold hands, he passed a basket of pretzels to his neighbor, taking a small handful. They couldn't smoke inside, but the crunch of the salt and the fiber between his teeth helped ease some of the agony of sitting in these small groups, waiting for each person to get on with it.

"I have kids at home. And a wife. I've done bad by them, you know, just wanna get clean and sober and go back. Start fresh if I can. If she'll have me. Be the Jordan I should be," one of the older patients offered to the group. Someone continued the discussion, but Hunter wasn't paying attention. He stared out the window, chasing lines with his eyes, listening to laughter in his head that wasn't there anymore.

He felt neglected. And lost. Alone. Like Peter Pan. Except he had no Neverland.

A voice cut through the dark, dragging him back to the present. "And how are you today, Hunter?"

Turning to look at the director, he offered a small shrug. "I don't know. I don't really care. But at least I have a future."

steviedrabble @ 2011-03-22T21:12:00

2011-03-23T00:51:13Z

"What?" she asked, feigning innocence.
"Don't like it?"
RING

Malcolm Blackwell stared at Terrell O'Connors from across the table that separated them, his expression one of complete and utter shock. She had a pleasant smirk drawled across her face.

"What?" she asked, feigning innocence. "Don't like it? And here I was thinking 'Terrell O'Connors-Nott' had quite the ring to it."

steviedrabble @ 2011-03-20T02:47:00

2011-03-20T06:24:23Z

“I knew it! I knew you weren’t dead! I knew it!
They all lied to me! They’re such liars, Benjy. They’re all liars,”
she sobbed, clinging to him with a ferocity
that would’ve terrified just about anyone who knew her.
MURDER

“No,” she whispered, her hands clenching into fists at her side as they brushed against her legs in defiance. Her heart raced inside her chest, its rapid beating made her stomach ache fiercely as she looked up and into the knowing, heartbroken eyes of Emmeline Vance. “No. I don’t believe you.” Rin Fenwick threw her hands up, pressing tightly on her ears, shaking her head forcefully. “No, no, no! I don’t believe you! I won’t believe you! NO!!” Her eyes were squeezed shut, her lungs constricting.

Rin knew the risks of being a part of the Order of the Phoenix. It had been risky, something she had decided against herself after William had managed to talk her out of following her brother into the line of duty. But she’d been told that he would be all right. Over and over and over again. “He’ll be just fine. Don’t you worry, love. We’ll keep an eye on him.”

What a bunch of liars.

Stupid, ugly, lying, liar faces.

“I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! Go away!” Her knees threatened to buckle, she swayed on her feet as she staggered against the couch and slowly slid to the floor, her ache growing to a vicious gnaw in her stomach that wouldn’t let go. She felt like she was being consumed from the inside out. The nearest trash bin received her lunch, her trembling hands kept her hair out of her face. She purged until the heaving was nothing but air and pain.

And then the sobbing came. Horrible, aching, hollow sobs that echoed through the house. Any words that she had just exploded into mist as she laid on the floor, her fingers digging into the carpet like a child. Her brother. Her poor brother. He was gone. And the last thing she said to him? She didn’t even remember. Likely something chastising about his raptor obsession.

“Oh, oh,” she cried, unable to form words, her tears choking her with their salt. She reached for the bin again, arching enough to release spittle and the last water she had. Pretty soon, she expected, she’d be vomiting blood. She had nothing left to give.

Spent, she laid on the floor for hours, curled in fetal position, refusing to move even as William knelt on the floor with a washcloth and dabbed carefully at her face, coaxing her to drink for him. When he failed to comfort her, he just settled beside her on the carpet, his arms looping around her.

“Oh, Will, he’s gone,” she wept, her fingers digging into his shirt now. “Oh, he’s just gone. And what’s left of him? Not a body, but a stitch of this and a strip of that. They told me. They couldn’t find anything but pieces. PIECES of my brother!” Her voice raised in volume, quivering as it did so, and she was pushing away from him again, struggling for the bin after hours of being settled, tossing up nothing but tears. Coughing turned into retching, retching turned into the pain of being unable to produce anything to purge, and it was a bitter system of consistent inability.

Gone. She let go of the bin, curled up on the carpet finally, facing the wall, and cried herself to sleep. She laid there for three days. Ignoring anyone and everyone. Oh, they all lied. She hated everyone. She didn’t want to look at any of them. Ever again.

“Rin! Wake up!”

Struggling from her corner, she looked around, hoping that the past few days were just a nightmare. Dark circles mocked her usually perky eyes, professing her honest need for nourishment as she dragged herself from the floor to the kitchen in slow, mournful steps. She didn’t know who called her. But she knew that whoever had, she was going to listen.

“Rin.”

She stopped dead in her tracks as she stood face to face with Benjy himself. Rubbing her eyes, she choked back a sob as she shaking stretched out a hand to touch to his shoulder. His solid body made her shiver in anticipation as she woefully threw herself forward, wrapping her arms around him. He had been there all of her life, encouraging her, offering his help in any way possible—making sure she was safe.

“I knew it! I knew you weren’t dead! I knew it! They all lied to me! They’re such liars, Benjy. They’re all liars,” she sobbed, clinging to him with a ferocity that would’ve terrified just about anyone who knew her.

He cleared his throat, looking around a little awkwardly. “Uhh, Rin,” he started and stopped, opening and closing his mouth a few times before his mouth set into a straight, firm line. Of acceptance. “Rin,” he tried a little more pleasantly, his hand smoothing her hair protectively as she curled against his chest. “I’m not really here. I mean, I am, but not for long. I just…I came to say goodbye.”

She refused to let go—not even to look up at him. “What do you mean say goodbye? You’re going to LEAVE me? After all of this?”

He coughed this time, his nerves rising high into his stomach, his voice shifted to reflect his concern. “Rin,” he tried again. “I’m dead. Murdered. By Voldemort’s supporters. It was quick, painless,” he tried to reassure her. “But I wanted to say goodbye. People are waiting for me. Mum. Dorcas Meadowes. But I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye first.”

She let him go, backing into the nearest wall, her hands held out in front of her as if to push him away, her eyes squeezed shut in denial. “No! No! I don’t believe you!”

Rin repeated the phrase a thousand times, woke up screaming it, Will’s concerned expression was the first one she saw. “NO!” she shouted, her voice cracking as she did so. “No! No, No, No!”

It wasn’t until what was left of Benjy was buried that she got any kind of closure. It was sitting next to the fresh grave every day for a week, sobbing at his absence that she finally let him go. Accepted that he wasn’t coming back.

steviedrabble @ 2011-01-23T21:45:00

2011-01-24T02:28:20Z

It was a dangerous dance, and yet, when they finally
met in the middle, nose to nose,
paws squared firmly beneath them--they didn't budge
until they had both surrendered to their human wills--
to let their wildest incarnations become friends.
WOLF

They met in the dense tree line, staring each other down, canine to feline, one more powerful than the other, the other possibly more clever. A panther in complete control of his facilities and a wolf lacking complete moral sensibilities. They crept toward each other, sizing one another up, making slow movements lest they startle the other into quick and thorough action. It was a dangerous dance, and yet, when they finally met in the middle, nose to nose, paws squared firmly beneath them--they didn't budge until they had both surrendered to their human wills--to let their wildest incarnations become friends.

Unblinking, they waited, the snow falling around them until the shiver of the cold crept up their limbs and they shifted balance, accepting each other. And without so much as a growl, they turned and walked in the same direction: the panther leading the wolf into the thick undergrowth, patient like the gentleman he was as a human, waiting until she had slipped into the brush before he followed.

Together, they took down two deer, a doe and a fawn, most likely a mother and a son, gnawing in perfect harmony. Something so unnatural had changed the course of history with every bite they took together. Cleaning themselves in the stream nearby, they padded through the snow in silence again, parting mere feet as they took to individual trees.

The panther's coat rolled, its bones cracked and with snapping sinew, it stood up, the black fur fading to an elegant, pale skin covering a tall male with the same brilliant green eyes as the cat. He moved as stealthily as his counterpart, quickly pulling his pants on and easily hiding his well-defined ab muscles with a black shirt. Though his coat was an unnecessary measure, he slid it onto his arms in a quick gesture, pacing behind the tree until he was fairly certain the wolf had made the complete change back to her human form. The panting behind her respective tree made him nervous and before he could help himself, he was moving toward it, his heart racing in his chest.

"Echo?" he called quietly.

"Don't," she warned, her fingers digging into the tree bark as she quietly vomited behind it, halfway between woman and wolf, her spine nearly to its breaking point, her face still twisted with the change. "Something went wrong."

Cameron growled, ignoring her pleas for him to leave her alone, bolting behind the tree to find her position nearly unchanged from where he'd left her. "Oh, Echo," he whispered. Gently, though she resisted, he pressed a knowing hand against her naked back, allowing her spine to crack and slide into its normal form, leaving her with a silent scream of agony. He grimaced, remembering, though barely, his first few shifts that had left him with ragged breath and in need of the pain remedies his medicine woman had offered within the pack. He only knew how to help her change from the wolf to the girl--his touch would guide the process carefully along. With gentle fingers, he pushed up on the balls of her feet, allowing her toes to lengthen and the ache of snapping bones to slow into mild cramping.

"Almost done," he purred, sliding to her face to grip her teeth with his thumbs. With simple grace, he wiggled her jaw back into place and completed the process for her. "There." Settling onto his heels, he quickly wrapped his coat around her, attempting to ease her soft chatter.

Purging her stomach again, she shakily wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her knees shuddering in the snow. "Thank you, Cameron." Her dark hair slid into her face--a great comfort--because she didn't want him to see her muted weeping.

He gave her time, collected her clothing and nudged piece by piece toward her, leaving only once he saw her reach for her shirt. The food they'd eaten would fuel her enough to get back to the house, but she'd need food afterward. And time. Plenty of time.

steviedrabble @ 2011-01-23T10:15:00

2011-01-23T14:58:17Z

"Why in Merlin's name would I love you, Wright?
I can barely stand to be around you."
POISON

The entire school was under attack, but that didn't matter. Not to Jake. Not to Andrew. Not to anyone. They were all dancing crazily in the castle to the beat of their own drums. If not because of the stir craziness that had inflicted itself upon all of them in the castle, then because someone had unleashed hundreds of billywigs into the school, and even better--someone had dosed the portion of cookies that had been delivered to Hogwarts with a love potion. It had been the cause of many students outing their secret relationships.

Some liked a particular other. Others liked many.

"Firstly, I do not like you, Wright. Second--I'm a married man, with a son, and I have no interest in explaining to him why another MAN is trying to take me out for dinner and a drink!" With a heavy chest and a furious expression, Andrew started to stalk down the hall in search of his wife (and usually better half), until Jake Wright had roughly pulled him to the side of the hall and had attempted to kiss him.

"OIWHATTHEBLOODYHELLDOYOUTHINKYOU'REDOING?! LET. ME. GO. THIS. INSTANT. OR YOU WILL REGRET TOUCHING ME FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE!"

Jake blinked a few times, clearly confused at how Andrew Kent, the man he loved, adored, would cherish forever could so clearly hate him. His hands dropped to his side, trembling a little. "So you don't love me then?"

"What?" the other man spat, taking a few rabid steps to the right to get as far away from Jake as possible, already fumbling for his wand. "Why in Merlin's name would I love you, Wright? I can barely stand to be around you."

"Oh."

Brushing off his sleeves, the very shaken Andrew Kent attempted to dust himself off as he took several more steps away from Jake Wright until the faint whimpering was all he could hear in the distance and he was no longer under attack by the clearly delusional man.

"Poisoned, the lot of them," he grumbled in annoyance as he watched his steps for quite some time as he attempted to keep as far away from Wright as possible.

steviedrabble @ 2011-01-18T03:23:00

2011-01-18T08:06:06Z

he had accepted the fact that until they dealt with whatever
it was they had, they weren't going to be happy.
FIRST

"Wait!"

Chase stopped walking away from the quidditch pitch, already drench completely because it was storming outside and only Potter would think it was perfectly logical to practice in the rain. He had done whatever was expected from him in the practice and he still felt like a failure. If Potter wasn't screaming at him, Meadowes was. And if she wasn't screaming, then it was Prewett or Gudgeon or even McGonagall because she liked to sit in on the practices as often as she could. It frustrated him to the core that he wasn't good enough. Ever. Ever.

So when Mary Macdonald had told him no--AGAIN--that he couldn't just be her boyfriend, he'd lost it. After years of being her best friend and months of dealing with events in school that kept thrusting themselves upon each other, he had accepted the fact that until they dealt with whatever it was they had, they weren't going to be happy. So he'd tried to kiss her--which hadn't gone well--and then he tried to hold her hand--which also hadn't gone well--and then he gave up and straight up asked her to go out with him. As his girlfriend.

The panic that exploded from poor Mary had nearly knocked him down, but he tried to explain that he wasn't after sex. He just wanted to snuggle on the couch and look at her like she was his girlfriend and hold her hand in the hall. That kind of stuff. But still--she wasn't ready. He didn't blame her. But he couldn't wait any longer for that sort of stuff. He couldn't wait any longer for the compassion of another human being and if she was going to play hard to get, he was going to play 'hard to talk to for the rest of a very long time'.

He froze in the pouring rain and slowly turned around to look at a completely soaked Mary Macdonald. He admired the fact that she looked so pretty in the rain, even though she also looked fairly small--like when someone gave a pouffy dog a bath. They shrank in size. He didn't think Mary was a pouffy dog, but he thought she definitely had shrunk in the rain. He stared at her, letting the drops pound into his head, the water thickly running down his face and into his eyes, the chill enough that it made him gasp for breath every few minutes.

"What?" he finally asked, standing in the rain and wondering what the hell she could possibly want. "Honestly--what do you want?"

Mary fidgeted in the rain. She had never done anything like this. She'd been tortured by Mulciber and it made her terrified of most boys and it certainly had removed any nerve she used to have. But she wanted this. For herself. For herself. She steeled herself against the rain and took a few stumbling steps over to him, pressed a trembling hand against his cheek and gave him a kiss. A short, very chaste kiss, but a kiss nonetheless. And just as quickly, she was stepping backward and turning to leave to the safety of the castle.

Chase stood in blatant awe, blinking for several minutes afterward, letting her escape to the warmth of their school while he went over the events that had just occurred. And as slowly as he put it together, he quickly took off for the quidditch lockers, lifting his robes as he dodged rain drops and hail to get back inside so he could find Mary and have a play-by-play explanation of what had just happened.

Maybe not his first kiss, but it was his first kiss with Mary and it had made all the difference.

steviedrabble @ 2011-01-18T03:00:00

2011-01-18T07:43:50Z

Of all the stupid, selfish, wrong things
she'd done in her entire life,
this had been the most accidental of them all.
ACCIDENT

It had definitely been an accident.

Of all the stupid, selfish, wrong things she'd done in her entire life, this had been the most accidental of them all. Staring at the ring on her finger, Kylie gave it a solid twist, wincing at the pain of the wringing of the skin and then settled lightly on the bed behind her. A few months ago, she'd drunkenly married a vampire not only several years older than her in age--more like several hundred--but just as bad for her as anyone else she'd dated in the past. If not worse.

She closed her eyes, leaning back into the sheets and blankets, breathing in the smell of them. She was engulfed by the bed, quite actually, so much so that it took a lot of flailing to find herself on the edge again. And even then, she looked like a mess and not so much the beauty she'd been trying to portray for several nights. Golden hair, blue eyes, a winning smile--pretty on the outside, but black within? She didn't know. She hoped not. She prayed that there was some redeeming quality to all of her ridiculousness.

After their trip to France, something had changed. Not Nic. Not their home or his family. Not really Kylie. But how she treated him. Not because he'd taken her to France and shown her his home or how close his family was or how dangerous he could be with everyone else and as meek as a kitten with her. No--it was the fact that they hadn't smashed heads the entire trip. She had wanted to hold his hand in silence, her head tilting just enough to the side that she rested against his shoulder as they were driven well into the country side. Whatever it was, whatever had changed, it terrified Kylie.

They returned from France and she stayed awhile, basking in the afterglow of their trip. But before long, she had packed her things and run off again. And sometimes Nic found her. Other times, she found him.

All she knew was that it had been a complete and utter accident that she'd fallen in love with Nic Hathaway. And she had no idea what to do about it.

steviedrabble @ 2010-11-20T11:15:00

2010-11-20T16:17:01Z

"You just made Mama very angry, boy.
Did you forget your manners?
Mama will have to teach you all over again."
HAIRBRUSH

Baiting her was the easy part. All anyone really had to do was say something inappropriate, like sexual things or curse words, and she'd come running--brush in hand.

"MAMA'S GOING TO MAKE HER CHILLEN BEHAVE," she'd wail as she ran, all pink and glitter in the blur that flashed by plenty of students as they shied away from the whirlwind she'd become.

Chase Harper, however, happened to find the whole situation hilarious. Very, very hilarious. "Oy! Mama! Over here!"

Mama stopped dead, hairbrush aloft, and squinted her eyes at the boy who wasn't technically doing anything, but might consider doing something horrible. She considered the opportunity for awhile before trotting over, her high heels obviously gave her the extra bounce. Chase could barely control his laughter. "Hey, Mama," he cooed. "Lookin' goooood."

"Mama looks very nice today, Chillen. She did her hair and her nails and you best be respectin' Mama, boy."

Chase slowly started to back away. "Oh, I'll be respectin' Mama all night!"

She saw her chance flash by and she swung the brush, missing by inches. "You stay put, boy! Mama's going to beat to disrespect out of you!"

And then she chased him, a crazy 'woman' in a flamboyant dress with the most ridiculous shoes and some hideous make-up. Everyone knew that beneath the dress was obviously a billywigged Muggle Studies teacher who usually didn't have more fun than he could possibly stand for one day. And yet, here he was, chasing everyone around with a hairbrush and calling himself Mama.

Chase disappeared into a room and Mama stopped dead in the hall, looking around to find where he'd gone. She saw a better opportunity as Theo Chastain walked by. "Now, now, girl, you told Mama you would accept your punishment."

Theo looked hard pressed to run away. But she didn't. Instead, she put her hands up in defense. "Mama, I--"

WHACK.

"Ouch!" she jumped, holding a hand to her butt. "Fuck me, that hurt! Mr. Kent, would you stop it? You're our teacher!!"

"Do not use such CRUDE language around Mama, Chillen! Repent!"

WHACK.

"OUCH!"

"STOP!!" screamed Chase as he ran onto the scene, dressed completely as a woman--right down to the pantyhose, jello boobs, and underwear. His hair was done much better than Mr. Kent's, if only because he'd had plenty of practice at being a girl. One of these days, he truly was going to convince someone he wasn't a boy.

Theo took it as a good excuse to escape with Lazarus.

"You just made Mama very angry, boy. Did you forget your manners? Mama will have to teach you all over again."

"No!" he waved his own hairbrush now. "MAMA will have to teach YOU how to behave all over again!!"

They charged. Teacher fighting student, student fighting teacher. They were a tangled of fake hair, dresses, lady shoes, and hairbrushes. Mama shrieked in rage and Chase wailed in fake pity. They continued to fight for the better part of fifteen minutes before Mama decided she'd had enough.

"Now, Chillen!" she addressed the room. "You all best be behavin' or Mama will be back."

Chase started to follow, but she ran away as quickly as her little shoes could take her. And he bowed to the small audience that had formed. "You can see our show at 10, half past five, and seven. Thank you! Now, if you'll kindly leave a tip...."

steviedrabble @ 2010-11-20T11:14:00

2010-11-20T16:00:53Z

Chase grinned hugely, nodding and flexing his
fingers in a display of what he thought was creative genius.
"Yes! It's Aslan. You know, because she got lost in Narnia?"
COOKIE

"Don't touch that!"

"Why not?"

"Because if you do, we're both going to be covered in flour for days. Seriously, Chasealoo. Why don't you come over here instead? I'll show you how to roll out cookies."

The older boy made a space for Chase on the counter nearest him before he used his magic to send the canister of flour back into its proper place in the cupboard. He moved a mound of dough and settled it in front of the younger boy, lifted the rolling pin and showed him how to use flour to keep the dough from sticking.

They spent hours cutting out cookies, decorating, and then eating them. It was one of the only things Paul Muller knew to do to keep Chase Harper out of trouble. Not that a sugar buzz would help much, but at least they'd been out of the way. Besides, he liked spending time with his friend and when he got the opportunity to do so, he took it.

"Oh," he remarked after taking a long look at a plate of cookies they'd wrapped to take up to Theo in the Gryffindor common room. "Is that a lion?"

Chase grinned hugely, nodding and flexing his fingers in a display of what he thought was creative genius. "YES. It's Aslan. You know, because she got lost in Narnia?"

Paul just shook his head and stole a dinosaur from beneath the wrap, content at the day's events.

steviedrabble @ 2010-11-19T02:10:00

2010-11-19T07:23:51Z

there were only two things that crossed his mind.
One, who had done this?
Who was stupid enough to hurt his precious cat?
Two, revenge.
REVENGE

Cameron knew what it was like to lose something important--someone special. He'd been losing things his entire life. He had lost his parents. His siblings. His title in the group that had somewhat revered him before the death of his family. He lost Echo. And now?

Now he'd lost House.

When he found the bloodied cat, there were only two things that crossed his mind. One, who had done this? Who was stupid enough to hurt his precious cat? Two, revenge.

Avery, he'd heard, had killed his cat. So he'd kill something special of hers.

Nosy, nosy, annoying Clara Avery. If she'd kept her distance, this wouldn't have happened. This being her brother tied to a chair, gagged, bloodied, cringing away from him.

Cameron stepped closer to the chair, giving a joking step toward the boy who was staring up at him with wide, pleading eyes. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't split you ear to eat. Chin to arse. Tell me quickly." But the boy was mute. His tormentor laughed evilly. "Crucio." He stuck the boy with his wand, watching as the whole chair shuddered under the weight of the curse. "Try it again. Tell me, Avery. Tell me right now and I'll spare your life."

The boy swore against the gag, spat, garbled the words, screamed. But nothing satisfied Cameron, who was looking rather murderous at the moment. He delightedly crucio'd Avery until the boy drooled blood.

And then he stepped forward again, using a small paring knife to effectively take off his pinky finger. Avery screamed into the gag, his breath coming in agonized huffs. Cameron pinched his fingers on the boy's nostrils, holding them shut while he thrashed in the chair. The finger site bled all over the floor. Eventually, the thrashing stopped and Cameron relinquished his hold, using an obliviation spell to keep the boy from knowing who had taken his finger.

- - -

Wrapped in nice paper with a bow and a small notecard to detail the recipient, the finger was nestled beneath layers of crushed velvet, sitting pretty within the box that Clara Avery was so delighted to receive. The other girls got present, so why shouldn't she? The box went airborne as she realized that the digit in the box was her brother's. And she knew that while she hadn't killed that cat--someone had exacted their revenge.